Daniel was just another exhausted man, trying not to unravel in public. And now here he was, being kicked repeatedly by a stranger’s child on a train he had paid extra for, because he thought—naively—that he deserved a bit of quiet. Another kick. This one landed like punctuation at the end of his thoughts.
He turned again, more sharply this time, and glanced back over the seat. The boy was still at it. Tap, tap, tap. But it was the mother that drew his eye. She wasn’t even pretending to supervise. One earphone was now out, dangling lazily from her ear.
Her phone was in her lap. She was sipping her drink and gazing out the opposite window, as if she were on a private meditation retreat. Daniel stared at her, waiting for a flicker of recognition. For a glance. For some hint that she might acknowledge him. Nothing.
He blinked. Something dark and heavy pressed behind his ribs. It wasn’t just about peace anymore—it was about being invisible. About being disregarded. Again. He swallowed hard and turned around. His breath was shallow. He ran a hand across his jaw. How many times had he let things slide in the name of politeness?